Sherlock One-Shots
by MissT2000
Summary: A collection of my Sherlock one-shots, about a range of characters in the pregrame. Mostly Johnlock, but maybe a couple of other ships too like Sheriarty or MaryxJohn. Suggestions and requests will be done if I can, but be patient please. Mild swearing and possible triggers.
1. Wake Up (JohnLock)

I growl and roll onto my side, slamming my hand wildly across the bedside table in the hopes of staunching the hideous blare from the alarm. By some slight miracle, they connect and I almost cry with relief. I open my eyes for the first time and glare at the clock beside me. 7.30.

I snuggle back under the duvet, reckoning I can sneak another 15 minutes of rest before someone comes to disturb me. I'm wrong.

Movement in the bed beside me alerts me to the awaking of Sherlock, just seconds before warm arms encircle my waist and a hard body presses against my back.

"Morning, love." His morning voice is adorable, a sleep-filled mutter dripping with affection. I smile at the wall across from me, and suddenly the idea of an extra nap fades, shadowed by a more desirable option. He laughs, clearly knowing what I am thinking.

I roll over to face him and grin sleepily. I reach up and brush a kiss across his stubbly cheek, "You too, Shezza." He pushes me away at the sound of his much-hated nickname, but I can hear the smile in his half-hearted complaint.

Sherlock stretches, his thin tee rising up to flash a pale toned stomach. God knows how he does it, what with spending so much time case-solving, shooting up, and playing violin, but somehow he finds time to work out.

He clambers out of bed and I hear him elephanting down the stairs - most likely 3 at a time if I know him. I'm just beginning to think I might just get that extra now-10 minutes if he's disappearing, when he returns, coffee in hand.

I chuckle and smile. He knows me so well. It's unusual for him to be out of bed first, but since he is, I'm eager to take advantage of it. I reach desperately for the steaming mug, but he pulls it away from me with a cheeky laugh.

"Oh, no you don't! Here," Sherlock hands me a little pink tablet and I stare at it, shooting daggers. "We couldn't have you getting all sick, again, mister!" He smiles, encouraging me.

I roll my eyes. I was fine - just mildly iron deficient. He only has a problem because he had to look after me, instead of me coddling him. "John! You were ill - I was the one seeing you all fainted and pale and bruised," he repeats.

I sigh but accept the glass of water and swallow it, grimcing at the taste and feel of it. It's true. I did faint, but I still insist it was nothing to do with my iron levels - and the bruises were just because I banged my arm.

Sadly, Sherlock disagreed, and because of his intelligence, I'm stuck with this daily routine. Although, normally, it's me making the coffee and 'forgetting' to take my tablet. However, as of late, he has been rising earlier and watching me take it. I think he's noticed that the tablets aren't at all diminishing.

I glare at him and reach again for the coffee. He watches me silently for a few seconds before relenting and handing me the mug. I grin cheekily, pleased at having gotten my own way - even if I did hve to take the tablet - and take a scorching sip. _Mmmm_ , I half-close my eyes as the liquid burns a delicious trail down my throat.

"Okay, come on then, you. Up we get!" Sherlock cajoles. I rise reluctantly, still clutching my mug of coffee and lean towards him, smiling sweetly.

I purse my lips as I near his face - close enough that I can smell the slight scent of sweat clinging to his skin and the coffee on his breath. I inhale softly and he puckers his soft lips, reay to recieve the kiss he anticipates.

And I exhale in a _woosh_ into his face.

I giggle hysterically at his shocked expression and run to the bathroom, careful not to spill the coffee. I can hear his disappointed cries trailing me, grumpy at not recieve the wake-up kiss he wanted, but it only makes me laugh harder.

"John..!" He whines, and lets himself into the bathroom behind me. I smile, the joking apology glinting in my eyes being reflected back to me in his. He kisses me, his soft lips pressing against mine, the taste of coffee and love in our mouths.

My hand - the one without the coffee which I'm still clutching - rises to run my fingers through his gorgeous curls. My body wakes up. And he pulls away.

This time, the joke is on me. The laughter is clear in his eyes, but he has the sophistication not to show it. A slight smile drifts onto his face as he strips off his top and ducks behind the shower curtain, "Good morning, sweetheart."

 **Hey guys. Please let me know what you think. This is my first-ever attempt at a oneshot so if you have any pointers, please tell me! All the best, loves. :3**


	2. Nightmare (JohnLock)

I wake slowly to the muffled sound of distress beside me. John writhes in some unknown agony, his sweat soaking the sheets as he gasps for the air that seems to be being starved from his lungs.

I heave my eyes open and drag my sleep-heavy limbs from the bed. Stumbling blindly across to my violin case, I pull out the glossed instrument and, stepping just outside the door into the living room, I place it against my neck and shoulder. I set the bow against the wood and slide it softly across the strings.

The gentle music floats through the air, beauty clashing with the pain-filled gasps from John's lips. But - as it did last night and the night before and even the one before that - the violin wins.

The gasps and cries of the war-dreams John suffers gradually fade into silence, until the night is once again disturbed by the rustle of bedsheets and the scuffle as bare feet pad over the carpeted bedroom floor.

I turn to the window watching headlights race by as John's tired hunched figure is dragged in an almost zombie-like state into the living room.

He sighs behind me, "Sherlock..."

The gentle tunes of the violin stop abruptly as I separate the instrument and its bow, before spinning to face the guy I love.

"Yes, John? Did I wake you?" I frown, "Well, I _am_ sorry, but sleeping... it's just such a bore."

"You might think so, but I'm really rather tired!" He replies, a whisper through the darkness. _Oh, John, my darling, don't I just know it._ His eyes are surrounded by a brush of midnight-blue, the shade of the sky outside, and his sweat-drenched hair sticks up everywhere, mussed by his tossing and turning. "It's gone-three, Sherlock. You don't need to practise every night - you need to sleep - you never do. And so do I! Some of us have an actual job in the morning, saving actual real-life people!" He hisses, a shimmer of doctorly concern fluttering through his angry tone.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my dear John-" I ignore his not-so-subtle dig at my cases, and nod to the coffee pot I put on last night on a timer for 3am, just visible in the soft glow of the streetlights. "-I have coffee," Maybe he thinks it a coincidence that I always practise at this time, but I know his sleep schedule - it's always now that he needs rescuing from his dreams.

I launch into a loud, springy tune composing as I go."Sherlock," He protests, "Stop that!" I ignore him.

"Sherlock! I have to sleep or I'll kill someone!" I merely let his anger fizzle to itself and begin to whistle along to my instrument - I'm beginning to quite like the song. Maybe I should note it down?

"Stop it! Every night! It's unnecessary, loud, and frankly, the height of rudeness!" I just stare at him as the bow dances over the strings.

"And you only just realised, John? You're just describing your favourite boyfriend." I give a cocky smile, though his words sting - but it's better than the alternative of admitting why 3 o'clock is my favourite time to practise. He'd be so embarrassed. I do worry about him, of course I do, but since he refuses my help all that I can do is wake him constantly, under the pretence of being the inconsiderate insensitive dick that the general public see me as.

He groans, and stumbles to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug-full before staring into it dubiously. "No eyeballs, right?" He checks with a careful frown. I'm surprised, normally he fights more than this; I guess he really is tired.

I laugh, "No, no! Not today. I already put them in the microwave." He nods, begrudgingly, and takes a sip, grimacing as the strong black liquid burns a trail down his throat.

John slumps into his armchair and tucks his legs up in a very not-John way: something he picked up from Sarah - or was it Mary? Whichever the last of his girlfriends was before we got together.

I transition gently into a lullaby as I see the exhaustion hit him. He sets his mug onto the coffee table and sighs softly, twinging something in my heart, before drooping his head onto the arm of the chair as he resigns to my playing.

I play long into the night, until the birds begin their tune, and I can cease mine and set the glossed wooden violin back into its case, ready to come out again tonight.

 _(Based upon prompt #1749 by .com - "Sherlock 'practises' violin at 3 in the morning to wake John when he notices he is having nightmares. He lets John get angry because he's rather that than explain why he did it.")_


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